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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106082">What to Aim For</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xima/pseuds/Xima'>Xima</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Olympics, Archery, Fodlan Summer Olympics, Gen, rifles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:14:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xima/pseuds/Xima</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernadetta von Varley never in her life thought she'd reach as hallowed a stage as the Olympics. She is representing Adrestia in the archery competition and she is frankly terrified. But she has friends new and old who care about her and will stop at nothing to make sure she realizes her potential, like the young archery phenom Cyril.</p><p>Meanwhile, Byleth Eisner is doing her best to keep her focus as she prepares to enter into one of the Pentathlon's stranger events: the 50m rifle. Only time will tell if a chance meeting with the mysterious Hapi Nuvelle will give her the edge she needs to take home a medal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bernadetta von Varley &amp; Edelgard von Hresvelg, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Hapi/Constance von Nuvelle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What to Aim For</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Thank you for joining us on another installment of the Fodlan Summer Olympics! Much love to this chapter's beta, the inimitable edelgard_eisner, also involved with this project!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The morning began, as it always did, with a beeping phone and a cheerful chirping dragging her from her cocoon of blankets into the land of the wakeful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a soft groan she crawled free from her comfortable prison, turning on her desk lamp and turning off the alarm. Six in the morning. The sun was rising, but nowhere near its height as she shuffled quietly around her village room, getting dressed and performing her morning ablutions in the order she had trained herself into treating as blind rote. Get changed. Take medication. Brush teeth, then brush hair. Quick, simple and efficient.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today was just going to be a light day. Some practice, healthy meals, and an early night. She was, oh, Goddess, going to participate in the Olympics after all. Even if she never imagined, never wanted to be placed on such a stage, she owed it to the people who helped her get here to do her best.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She twiddled her fingers as she sat on her bed nervously. The new pills weren’t working as well. The Committee said her anxiety medication could be classified as a performance enhancing drug, so she’d needed to have her doctor prescribe her an alternative for the time being. She’d been on them for three months, but they just didn’t work as well, her anxiety crept around the edges like a fog made of chicken-wire scratching her up and restricting her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood up, marched to her equipment and got to work accounting for it all as she always did. It was vital for an archer to ensure her equipment was in pristine condition after every practice, particularly before a big event.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A quiver with a dozen crested arrows, fletchings fresh and pretty in purple and red. All of them clean, all of them straight. Aircraft-grade aluminum didn’t distort easily. Target points on tightly and no jiggle in the tang. All as she’d left them last night. Her rod stabilizer hung with them as well, too unwieldy to keep on her bow at all times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The briefcase where she kept her bow was always sealed. Even if she was the only one in the room and frankly the only one who’d care about it at all, she still randomized the number wheels  on it whenever she left it unattended. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a few deft clicks, the case popped open, revealing her bow with the string limp but gleaming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t doubt that the strange space age composite it was made out of could survive being limp, but keeping it this way was strange to her even now; she wanted to show her bow that she cared, as she did in all of her equipment care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pitcher-plant, her bow wasn’t exciting to look at, but that was okay. Neither was she. Black, with the inner solid arms being a washed out red that was almost pink. The only spot of color aside from that was its namesake sticker at her nock point, green and invisible to anyone not close to it anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not everyone used a take-down bow like she did, but she valued being able to carry and store it more easily. It’s not like the occasional ‘click’ that came from the hinges bothered her; she knew those hinges and she knew her bow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put so much work into caring for Pitcher-Plant. She poured all the love she had, really. She  wouldn’t let her down, she wouldn’t fail her</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Bernadetta messed this up, it would be her fault alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With gentle movements, she ran a hand over the little sticker right by her nocking point. A little pitcher plant, to remind her that people cared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had just been competing at an event in Brigid, and this woman with a traditional Brigid bow walked up to her and, despite how Bernadetta fumbled and stuttered and made a fool of herself, asked if they could be friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She still had every sticker except for that one on its sheet. It was kept safe at home hoarded like treasure. Petra, that Brigid athlete who befriended her gave her those little carnivorous plant stickers when she had traveled there. No occasion, no justification, just because they “made her think of her.” She cherished them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After talking a bit more after the event, they agreed to go to a botanical garden near the venue that Petra swore by, where she got her those stickers to remember her by. All because she’d stumbled into an embarrassingly long tangent about how interesting carnivorous plants were. She nearly died when she woke from her babbling trance to see Petra smiling at her good-naturedly, eyes gleaming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are reminding me of a pitcher plant,” was all she’d said after that. She was so surprised by the statement that she simply closed her mouth and followed her as they walked on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, her bow had been dubbed the Pitcher-Plant in honor of that special day and that special person, who had been kind to her for no good reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They still spoke; they hadn’t met up yet for the Olympics, Petra was here for another event entirely and wasn’t flying in until tomorrow; maybe after the event she’d see her, if Petra wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She gently closed the case again, picking up her bow and quiver. Without them she was as useful as a seamstress without a needle, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta stood by the door and put on her athletic shoes. It was time for breakfast and some practice. Her quiver sat easily on her back, bow comfortable in its custom made foam-lined case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was not thankful for much about her upbringing, but she was at least thankful for the money it allotted her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a short walk to get to the cafeteria—mercifully Garreg Mach seemed to understand the needs of their Villagers—and the cafeteria was already open, with a fair number of people inside even at such an early hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a light but healthy breakfast, she made it to the stadium, She presented her badge and was directed to where the targets were set. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked at the athletes at work: there was a pole-vaulting area, a corner relegated to shot put- this was supposed to be one of the smaller areas.The archery section ensured that a solid half of it wasn’t usable; no runners, but there was also a javelin toss.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Even from where she sat, she was quietly amazed to see so many people from so many places, just based on their uniforms. She saw blue, yellow, red, green… she wasn’t used to international events. The furthest she’d traveled was Brigid-and even then it was only once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bernadetta sighed and returned to herself. 70 meters. It wasn’t truly so far. She’d made longer shots, but it still </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She made her way to one of the open tables.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carefully, she pulled out Pitcher-Plant, clicking her into place. The string was tight and perfect, as ever. She lifted the foam pad which had held her, reaching further into her case for her accoutrements.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her tab, her bracer, her thumb-ring, her chest-guard all slipped on easily, her quiver slung across her hip with her bucket hat comfortably placed on her head. She was ready.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>70 meters. It was only 70 meters. Give her a second and she could walk over there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She allowed herself a cleansing breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>70 meters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nocked. She pulled. She breathed in, then out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next instant, the arrow was on the other side of the field, planted firmly between the seven and eight rings; in the red.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She finished her first set; her arm burned pleasantly, mind focused on a single task.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>50 points. Out of 60, that was great for a starting round, but she needed to go higher. At least 55. She pulled her arrows, placing them gently back into her quiver after assessing each one. They were, of course, all fine. It’s what they were made for after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, she returned to her mark, readying up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so it began anew. Again and again she fired, tallying her points with grim commitment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>660, for her first set of ends. Not bad, but not amazing either. She needed to do better if she wanted to be anything more than forgettable old Bernie, asalways. Twelve rounds of six arrows, that’s all it was. She just had to be calm, line her shots and fire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted this to matter more than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to matter. As she loosed arrow after arrow, that was all she could think about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How sick she was of being nobody, of being scared little Bernie, who was afraid of her own shadow, and never going to amount to anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She didn’t want to be that person, she never did. She wanted to make her friends proud, to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span> proud, prouder than even her prettiest hoop stitches could!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was really starting to feel better when something seemed to distract all of the athletes. Curiously, she craned her head to see what the commotion was. A small camera crew became visible along with a distinctive head of green hair. It made her heart give a shattering ‘thump’ in her chest, shattering in its force</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhea Nabatea? What was she doing at practice? Was she doing interviews? Who was she going to talk to!? Oh Goddess, not her, surely...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... so we were thinking of a bit of action footage, but mostly we’re going to be doing the field interview,” Bernadetta made out, very desperately trying not to be noticeable, holding Pitcher-Plant between numb fingers and staring resolutely at her target and nothing else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s fine,” another voice said. “You know I can’t say no to you, Miss Rhea,” they said, coming closer.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“This is a nice range!” Rhea enthused politely, the shifting of grass made it clear they were close by, even if she refused to look.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just do what you do, Cyril, the camera will love you,” came the smooth tones of one of the announcers for the games who was being followed by cameras.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took a heroic amount of willpower not to flee with nothing but Pitcher-Plant and the clothes on her back as the cameras set up around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She recognized him now. Cyril Vahbiz, though no one called him that. He was just Cyril from Garreg Mach. An orphan that Garreg Mach had adopted, and made into a shining star in the archery world at 15 years old.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She was glad in that moment that the events were gender-segregated. Surreptitiously, she looked over at his profile as he strapped his gear into place just as she had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, his bow was a proper recurve; he used more weights than her, too. She only used her poker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a pretty face, too, she noted passively. He looked so young, gangly in his uniform, even as his eyes sharpened and pierced the target as surely as an arrow would.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A shiver ran down her spine. He was really dedicated…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In quick succession he unloaded, six arrows flying in what felt like as many seconds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was firm clapping now, Rhea reaching forward to place a hand on Cyril’s shoulder, smiling down at him warmly. “Amazing, Cyril,” she stated happily. “And you were hardly trying! That shot is going to make the reel, don’t you worry.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Cyril scratched at the back of his head awkwardly with his thumb ring. “I mean… I just wanted to do good for you, miss Rhea,” he admitted softly. “You’re my hero.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bernadetta’s heart warmed to see him blushing gently, so sincere in his words. She wished she could be so forthright about her feelings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well what if I told you that you were ours, Cyril?” Rhea said softly, looking down into his eyes. “Lady” Rhea, as she was known in the ring, was infamous for her height; it gave her the reach that helped her win her golds, it was said, and Cyril looked a sapling before her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t even done anything yet though…” he mumbled poutily as Rhea ran a gentle hand through his hair.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Nonsense. You’re doing what all athletes strive for. You inspire us. I’ve spoken to quite a few young ones who hope to follow in your footsteps already, Cyril. Don’t undersell yourself,” she chided gently as she pat him on the head, making him smile despite himself..</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Now, are you ready for the actual interview?” she asked sweetly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Right here?” he asked, surprised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not? It gives a relaxed air, compared to doing it in the studio, don’t you think?” she asked, eyes fairly twinkling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Besides, you said you didn’t want to get the star-studded treatment, this should help bring your image down to earth a bit.” Cyril hummed thoughtfully at that.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Okay, you talked me into it,” he finally assented.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Perfect. So! I’m here with one of Garreg Mach’s shining prospects, Cyril! An archery wunderkind I personally have known since he reached my knee,” Rhea said, suddenly seeming to glow, charisma radiating off of her, demanding she be acknowledged.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hey, c’mon Miss Rhea, you say that like it was that long ago. Your knees are pretty high up,” Cyril teased gently, a soft smile on his face.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, that’s a jab that would have had me smarting in the ring! Well played,” she laughed before leaning back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, Cyril: you’re Garreg Mach’s one and only Olympic participant in the Archery competition. How did you get into the sport?” she asked, her interviewer’s voice all but hypnotic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cyril gave an awkward shrug. “I was just good at it; one day, they had some bows and arrows during one of the outdoor days at the orphanage and it turned out I was pretty good at it. You’re the one who said so actually. You were keeping an eye on everyone at the orphanage that day and you signed my slip for some lessons. From there I just... kept practicing until I got here,” he explained in matter-of-fact tones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhea laughed good-naturedly. “That simple, was it?” she inquired, smiling warmly. “It goes to show what a bit of support and a lot of passion can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cyril blushed at that a bit. “Well... I wanted people to notice me for me,” he continued, steel in his voice. “Not an Almyran orphan, not some amazing archery person, I just want people to know Cyril,” he said, clasping his hands behind his hips self-consciously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just doing my best, same as any other athlete here. Just because I’m a little younger doesn’t make me that special. I’m just Cyril,” he explained humbly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wow… Cyril was so amazing. Such a good archer but he didn’t let it get to his head at all! Bernadetta had to admit, she was enthralled by the two of them and their back and forth as they continued their interview, her own training forgotten as she listened to them reminisce and talk good-naturedly about the events, the venue, every little thing.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—As do we all, Cyril. We’re sure you’re going to make a great showing, as are all of these incredible athletes,” said  Rhea, clearly moving towards the end of her interview.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Thank you, Cyril.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Thank you, Miss Rhea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the two having finished their interview, almost immediately they began to walk, Rhea chattering happily about how well the interview went, and about how she was going to go back to the editing room to look the footage over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta sighed, looking out at her empty target. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quietly, she folded Pitcher-Plant and took off her gear, putting it all away as she wondered what she would do with the rest of the day before her event. She certainly didn’t feel like more practice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed, already feeling a good old-fashioned mope sneaking up on her, her shoulders drooping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why was she even trying? When there were amazing people like Cyril or any of the other competitors surely, how could dumb little Bernie hope to do anything?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In her doldrums all she’d managed to do was sit down in the stands, Pitcher-Plant in her hands, watching the other athletes give it their all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wondered what it was like to be so cool and confident.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She squeezed the case tight, feeling no better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She just wanted to do good. Why was she beating herself up like this?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>With a forlorn expression, she looked out at the mats that runners, the high-jumpers, the pole-vaulters, and wondered why she was different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bernadetta?” came a voice from beneath her, on the stadium floor. Shocked at being addressed directly, she nearly dropped Pitcher-Plant.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Y-yes? Wh-who’s that?” she asked, peeking nervously over the guardrail to see a familiar head of long, platinum hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s me, Bernadetta,” said Edelgard, looking up at her, coated in sweat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-oh! Um, how, that is, can I, uh, um, do you need help with something miss Edelgard?” she asked, shocked and alarmed that she had caught her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She and Edelgard had gone to the same school, and participated in some of the same events. She’d always had mousy little Bernie’s back in school making sure no one bothered her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even when they’d moved on, going to different universities, Edelgard had demanded they kept in touch, and she was powerless to deny one of her best and only friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She owed her a lot, and she didn’t know if she could ever repay it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, you could come down here and tell me why you look so serious,” she said lightly, gesturing next to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“U-um. Ok.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>With no further ado, she climbed awkwardly over the guard-rail, hanging off of it with Pitcher-Plant in one hand, letting herself hang and fall off it safely to land near Edelgard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She straightened herself up, looking down awkwardly at Edelgard. Her last growth spurt had somehow made her taller than Edelgard, and she was still embarrassed about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Well?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know where to start,” admitted Bernadetta miserably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you seemed to be doing perfectly well practicing, you’ve been here all morning, and suddenly you packed up and sat in the stands looking dejected. Did the camera crew spook you?” asked Edelgard, efficiently finding the source of the problem.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was so much smarter than her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bernadetta grit her teeth, fighting back tears.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s nothing, E-Edelgard,” she managed to whisper out. “I’ll get over it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She looked back at her unimpressed, arms crossed.“It doesn’t seem like nothing from where I’m standing, Bernadetta.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-it’s nothing you should have to bother yourself with. Y-you have other things to worry about!” she said, trying to back away before Edelgard grabbed her hand, holding it tight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, Bernadetta,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. “My event’s already over. I’m just practicing. Now tell me what’s bothering you? Come on, we’ll go somewhere private,” she said, forcefully pulling her back up into the stands towards a more private location.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they’d found a private spot behind a concrete pillar, Edelgard stopped pulling.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on, Bernadetta. Talk to me,” she coaxed, tone sincere in a way she couldn’t resist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, the tears fell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just so stupid,” she sniffed, wiping roughly at her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t be here, this is all a mistake, I just shoot t-targets. I’m nothing special, wh-why am I in the same competition as people like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she demanded hopelessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bernadetta,” Edelgard soothed, taking her into her arms as she sniffled miserably, like the big baby she’d always be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bernadetta. What was your last score today?” she asked gently, rubbing soothing circles into her back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“688, but-” Edelgard shushed her softly, continuing to hold her close and rub her back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s an incredible score, Bernadetta. Any competitor would kill to score that during the event,” she explained in slow, soothing tones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you be impressed if a competitor scored that?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I-I mean, sure, that’s hard to beat, but-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So you’re saying 688 is a hard score to beat for an Olympian? Did I understand that properly?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Y-yeah, but I mean-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think  I know enough to know that if my dear friend Bernadetta von Varley can score a 688 under any circumstance, she deserves to be considered one of the best archers in the world,” Edelgard stated definitively, her striking lilac eyes seeing right through her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta stood mute under her gaze, no idea how to respond to the way she’d just been definitively shut down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve had this talk before, Bernadetta. Back when you thought an 300 was an impossible dream, when you thought 500 was too much to ask for,” she explained, eyes piercing her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ve watched you grow into an Olympic-class athlete before my very eyes. You and Pitcher-Plant not only </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be here, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>belong</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.” she stated in no uncertain terms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Finally, she couldn’t bear to be pinned under that gaze, and she broke it. “You’re right,” Bernadetta admitted, the dark clouds seeming to have been scared away by her clear and uncompromising logic.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m sorry. I just… you know how I get,” she managed, with a nervous chuckle.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I do,” she said softly. “And you have friends who will help you when you need a hand, Bernadetta.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She sighed, trying to remember the advice her counsellor had given her. Frame things positively. She wasn’t a drain on her friends, she was… “I’m so lucky to have you, Edelgard,” she admitted sincerely. “I don’t know why you deal with me, but I’m so thankful,” she admitted with blunt honesty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Edelgard blessed her with one of her rare smiles, squeezing her shoulder. “You’re a friend worth keeping,” she said softly. “Why don’t we go get some dinner, hm? Need to make sure you’re well fed for the event,” she said cheerily.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bernadetta nodded enthusiastically. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Byleth had to admit; despite being far away from her usual haunts for carbo-loading, the Village cafeteria was keeping up with her admirably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Two thick Leicester steaks, home fries, cooked asparagus… she was pretty full, altogether.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat in the packed cafeteria, everyone popping in to have their dinners and do exactly what she was doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turned out that two hours of constant mental focus loading, aiming and firing a rifle at a target took a lot out of you, whether you were standing, kneeling or prone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially if you just do it again after a half hour breather.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still she was displeased with her results. She likely wouldn’t see the podium, but it was enough that she should keep ahead of other Pentathlon competitors for the event. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t mean she had to like it, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If people like the woman in the stall next to her were the ones angling for the medal then she hadn’t a hope, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She recognized her by her uniform. Mostly white, not much in the way of distinctive markings. Hapi Nuvelle, marksman. She’d been incredible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her shots were always on the mark, no stress at all in her stance. She even heard her whistling a tune when they’d moved onto the kneel as she reloaded her rifle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like she was meant to hold that gun in a way Byleth didn’t comprehend. By the time they’d finished their first run, she simply hummed as she reloaded completely unbothered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth remembered looking at her rifle; standard issue, no bells or whistles. Just a metal sight, and it looked like her gun was just the same. She had no idea how they could be so different in how they approached the same task with the same equipment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put her all into those shots but she was whistling as she beat her score.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was infuriating, but in that same moment it brought her a certain amount of glee. There were people better than her! People she had to work to surpass!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was why she’d decided on the Pentathlon despite her parents’ exhausted sighs of resignation: she needed to be pushed, Coach Alois had said. She did her best work when she was being pushed to her limits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Coach Alois was a goofball, the Garreg Mach athletes all agreed, but there was no question he knew what he was talking about. He earned his position and their respect: by being great at his job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It helped that he got silver in equestrian and bronze in wrestling. Everyone she’d met who worked with him was just as confused as she was as to how he made that career pivot, which at least proved she wasn’t crazy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Knowing there were other people good at a lot of sports helped, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d always been gifted. In sports, academics, she was a demon, the one every single sports team was desperate to have, but it was never enough. It was never challenging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Beating high schoolers, even if she was one didn’t hold much allure. When she broke their records without much effort. When she became one of the best runners in the school’s history she was let down; she hadn’t been trying that hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something wasn’t worthwhile unless you worked for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is why now she felt like she was finally where she was meant to be: being challenged and pushed to her limits to prove that she was the best.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To feel like she’d earned it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put away her tray and made her way outside for some fresh air, standing outside in the courtyard dazedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, look, it’s Chatterbox,” a voice behind her called calmly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surprised, she turned, surprised to see the woman from the range holding onto a pretty blonde woman’s waist possessively.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...my name is Byleth,” she responded neutrally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coulda fooled me; thought we had something going at the range today but you never said a word,” she stated bluntly. “You’re pretty good. I was telling Coco about how I hadn’t seen a shooter as good as you in a long time. The Olympics sure are wild, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth blinked slowly, the silence dragging as she stared at the woman, unsure what to say.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She quirked her lip. “Sorry. The name’s Hapi. This is Coco,” she said, gesturing from herself to her companion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Awkwardly, Byleth waved at them, ‘Coco’ smothering a giggle into Hapi’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to bother you. Just wanted to say hi. Good luck out there tomorrow, Byleth,” said Hapi, walking past her with Coco at her elbow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W-wait,” she choked out, reaching a hand out at the disappearing couple. Hapi craned her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth made an awkward noise that might have been words, before she screwed up her face and forced them out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You shoot beautifully. If you don’t get the gold I don’t know who can,” she said, face sliding into the mask she kept when dealing with others.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hapi smiled at that. “Thanks. You’re too tight in the shoulder though! “ she said good-naturedly, Coco hissing a soft ‘Hapi!’ and bopping her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth winced despite herself. “Shooting is… not my primary event,” she admitted, shame-faced as if she’d been caught out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m in the pentathlon.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What, really!? That’s awesome!” said Hapi cheerily. “Geeze, I thought you were a dedicated shooter! I was surprised when you only practiced for rifle since they had the skeet range open and everything.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth shook her head. “No, it’s only the 50 meter rifle for us. I’ve never tried a skeet, or air rifle or pistol,” she admitted. “I’m a bit single-minded.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hapi let go of Coco, who sat primly on one of the chairs dotting the courtyard, presumably for people to eat outdoors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She crossed her arms behind her head. “You might like it, even if you’re not competing! I’m only here for rifles, so I’m doing all of it,” she said with a cheeky grin. “You should see me when I’m shooting clay.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Who’s your friend?” Byleth asked suddenly, realizing she had been sitting quietly saying nothing for a while.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The woman cleared her throat politely, standing up to her full height. “Constance Nuvelle, at your service,” she stated, curtseying despite her lack of a dress. “Boxing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only Byleth’s impressive poker face that stopped her from doing a double-take at the thought of the beautiful young lady before her being a boxer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her and Rhea… why were boxers so pretty?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You have the same last name,” she observed gently, choosing not to engage on the topic of boxing. Her brother would have actual questions to ask about combative sport, but not her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Constance nodded her head Hapi’s way. “And that one’s better half,” she said with a rueful smile. Hapi scratched at her head awkwardly, a small smile on her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth couldn’t help but smile softly. “You two must have a strong bond. Your disciplines are so different, too,” she said kindly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ahh, we’ve boiled it down. She yells at me to hit targets, I yell at her to hit faces. We know it comes from a good place,” Hapi said, leaning over Constance’s  shoulders to peck her on the cheek, making Constance giggle and push her face away.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“But the pentathlon! Goodness, what made you decide that would be your event?” Constance inquired, eyes gleaming with curiosity.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth scratched at her nose, staring off to the side somewhere. “I guess I wanted a challenge,” she admitted. “I was good at a lot of sports, and my head coach thought it might be what I’d been looking for,” she said, embarrassed. Who went out of their way to make things harder?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Constance nodded sagely. “I see, I see. Of course the demands of the pentathlon would appeal to you, then,” she mused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean… I’m just me. Mostly training has just been conditioning,” Byleth objected helplessly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Constance and Hapi both smiled at that. “Of course, dear. And you are special! “ said Constance, a warm close-lipped smile on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a special person, we all are!” she said, seeming to preen at the thought. “We didn’t get here by accident, after all!” she said grandly, Hapi leaning back with arms crossed, a fond look in her eye as she gave a twirl to emphasize her point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“After all, how do you think I kept this pretty face while learning the Sweet Science?” she said with a coy wink that made Byleth’s cheeks heat despite herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing how she’d affected Byleth, she smiled, leaning forward and bopping her nose with a finger. “It’s by being special,” she said sweetly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah. You’re in good company, Byleth. We all know a bit about what you’ve probably felt,” Hapi volunteered, pulling Constance back into her arms, where they shared a chaste kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s weird, isn’t it? Everyone’s so amazed, but we just do what we do.” Hapi stated ruefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth found herself nodding, almost vigorously. “Yes, exactly..!” she said, something in her chest soaring. Could they really understand? Could everyone here understand?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Constance sighed happily, sinking further into Hapi’s arms, eyes closing comfortably.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hapi gave a soft chuckle, holding Constance’s weight for a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So listen, Chatterbox; how about we meet up after the rifling events and we can talk s’more? The wife and I wanted to go on a moonlight stroll for luck,” she explained not-quite-apologetically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth nodded. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Awesome. Can’t wait to see you on the range. Mind that shoulder!” she called, half-dragging her wife who was now giggling away wherever they were going.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth was left standing much where she started, dazed and staring into the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...huh. That was… interesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Byleth felt better after that conversation than even after she finished her whole meal, usually her best option to sooth her nerves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth gave a cleansing sigh, beginning her walk back to the village dorms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, she felt that tomorrow would be a good day.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta felt like her heart was going to leap out of her throat as she stared, owl-eyed up into the stands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They weren’t in the stadium now, but rather in an open-air field with wide stands winging the range before them, set up pretty as a textbook picture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was no stadium, but the stands were packed all the same. Archers had been relegated to the stadium range so that the rifles could have a full open range where people wouldn’t go deaf from the practice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a clean, clear day. The sky was blue, the clouds fat and lazy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A perfect summer’s day and she was up next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood in the competitors’ building a short distance away. Edelgard sweetly volunteered yesterday to accompany her to keep her calm, and she was infinitely grateful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat in the large room, the other competitors, archers and rifle users all watching the large flat screens showing the live footage of the event.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was already kitted, Pitcher-Plant in one hand and Edelgard’s in the other as she fought the urge to run screaming in the other direction even as she sat politely in a plastic chair next to Edelgard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just another set of ends, Bernadetta,” Edelgard soothed. “You just have to do what you’ve been doing for years.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bernadetta took a deep breath, trying to internalize the thought. It was true. It was just another day at the range. It didn’t have to mean anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could feel her mind juddering with uncertainty but she refused to let that belief slip.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Edelgard was doing all this to help her, and she couldn’t let her down. She needed to be brave. If not for her, then for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat awkwardly, watching the Men’s event running. They were scoring well but as Edelgard pointed out repeatedly, not any better than she could do once she was out there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another group finished, the two archers picking their arrows as the points were tallied, Edelgard stroked her hand supportively as their points came back: 620 and 596. Not even that amazing by her own measure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had trouble believing watching other people shoot would help calm her, but seeing them finish with scores she could land in her sleep definitely put some wind in her sails.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But someone came onto the scene that made every archer in the room perk up: Cyril was taking the field, someone from Sreng opposite him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked beautiful, she had to admit; his hair fluttered in the gentle breeze, kitted in his archer’s gear in Garreg Mach colors that played a pretty counterpoint to his sharp amber eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She clenched Edelgard’s hand unconsciously. “That’s Cyril,” she whispered. “He’s Garreg Mach’s only archer, and he’s just 15!” she said, Edelgard nodding politely at her commentary. “He’s really cool,” she added unnecessarily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to be honest, to anyone who wasn’t an archer- and even to archers- her sport of choice didn’t make for very exciting television, but Bernadetta was transfixed, watching Cyril’s every pull with fascination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face was so expressive. It was serious, then he would smile, or frown, or even grit his teeth if he made a bad shot. Firing an arrow every few seconds meant that it was like watching an emotional rollercoaster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stress was getting to him, she could tell. He was sweating and some got in his eye. He had a bit of a squint, but he wasn’t slowing down at all, his teeth grit in dire focus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta couldn’t even bear to look at the scores for his ends, just praying fervently that the sweet boy she’d seen at the range impressed them all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The arrows whistled in the direct feed they were getting, the soft grunts of the competitors audible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cyril said not a word, keeping that look of deadly focus on his face as he fired arrow after arrow until Bernadetta was hypnotized by the nock, pull, fire, over and over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she knew it, Cyril was finished. He’d been in the last set of competitors, and the scores for him and his opponents were being tallied, the spreadsheet appearing onscreen, organized by score.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t first; that went to a man named Vivien Hulvitz, from Sreng.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t second or third, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was fourth, with a 689.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta’s heart fell into her stomach. There was not even a shot of Cyril, but rather Vivien, with his score of 697, an unquestionably incredible score who had shot next to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart went out to him. To get so close…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door slid open with a soft ‘click’, bringing attention from the televisions to Cyril in the doorway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cyril stood awkwardly for a moment, bow in hand before quietly making his way over to sit down politely in the  empty seat next to her and looked at the screens with an unreadable expression on his face as he watched the shoot-out with the two medal contenders who tied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted to say something. Wanted to congratulate him, or offer sympathies, or… whatever she was supposed to do in this situation she wasn’t really sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clenching Pitcher-Plant in her hands, Bernadetta looked at him nervously</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could be brave about this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“U-um…” she started, to no response. “C-Cyril?” she asked meekly, surprised by the gentleness of his wide eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” he asked, sounding perfectly calm and collected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I just wanted to say I think you did g-great out there. U-um. If that’s ok to say…” she managed, quickly regretting her decision. Oh, she wasn’t any good at situations like this…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was surprised when Cyril simply gave her a blinding grin. “Thanks!” he said cheerily. “I fumbled it a little, but I gave my all. I’m just happy that there’s room for improvement! Vivien and them definitely earned it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bernadetta’s heart did a strange flip-flop, simultaneously relieved he wasn’t angry and overcome all over again with respect for the young man’s attitude.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s a very positive attitude to have,” volunteered Edelgard next to her, smiling politely. “Congratulations on a great showing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah! Y-you should be proud. I bet next time you’ll medal for sure!” she added encouragingly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Cyril’s grin was unchanged. “You’d better believe it! I’ve got a lot of work to do, but you’ll get to see me on that podium next time for sure!” He gave an encouraging pump of his fist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah! A-and you’d better watch out for me today!” she said, his enthusiasm contagious.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Absolutely,” Edelgard chimed in. “She’s one of Adrestia’s shining stars. You’d do well to back the winning horse,” she said good-naturedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well if I’m gonna do that, I need a name,” he said cheekily. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“O-oh! I’m so sorry, I’m Bernadetta,” she apologized, bowing awkwardly in her chair.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he laughed. “I’ll be cheering for you, Bernadetta. Do your best out there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nodded, amazed. “I-I will,” she said dazedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a cheerful round from Sreng’s other athletes in the room, Vivient took the gold at the podium.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After one round of the women’s section, her name was called by an attendant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a firm nod and a serious expression, she stood up, grasping Pitcher-Plant firmly. Edelgard stood in turn, gripping her shoulder. She craned her head to look back at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can do it, Bernadetta. All of Adrestia believes in you,” she said with warmth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta smiled, nodding with a soft expression. She put on her hat, a reassuring weight resting on her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Without further ado, she followed the attendant out into the open air, a cool peace overtaking her as she walked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She watched the stands, trying to keep her nerves under control.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Which was why her heart soared when she saw Petra standing, waving from the stands reserved for athletes, a wide smile on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, her hand went to her chest, heart soft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she could think better of it, she waved wildly to her, a wide smile on her face, quickly turning around to run up to her station.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, it came to her thoughtlessly once it was just her and the target.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The buzzer rang, and she nocked, looked at Pitcher-Plant’s sticker, and she pulled. Her head was blissfully empty, floating on a cloud of love and support as arrow after arrow flew from Pitcher-Plant, completing end after end without a word, face clear of tension, collecting her arrows from the attendants and ignoring  her scores dispassionately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d never felt so good on the range, never mind during a competition.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People cared about her. People believed she could do it, so she would, because deep down, she always knew she could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to be told by one of the attendants to un-nock her arrow, she had been so lost in her trance at the finale of the final end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a haze she walked back towards the competitors’ building to sit politely in the waiting room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once she crept inside, she was met by Edelgard as well as Cyril, who was gaping openly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“H-hi,” she managed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>human?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Cyril demanded, naked amazement in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh-what!?” she cried, anxiety spiking.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He didn’t mean it like that, Bernadetta,” Edelgard interjected, pulling her down into a seat.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah I did! Did you see what she scored!?” he continued, arms spread wide to emphasize his point.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Cyril, please. She’s nervous about these things. Just sit down, and we’ll see the results when the other competitors finish their ends,” Edelgard lectured.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta still wasn’t sure what was happening, if she was honest. She didn’t remember anything about her run. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quietly, she packed away her gear in the watch-room  as the other competitors continued to watch the event. She didn’t really have the energy to look at anyone’s scores. She didn’t even know how well she did. It was all just such a blur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat in the back of the room, holding Pitcher-Plant’s case in her hands and staring up at nothing until Edelgard came back to rouse her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s time, Bernadetta,” she said, bringing her up in front of the screens. What she saw there may as well have been gibberish for all that it made sense to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>#1 Seed</span> <span>Bernadetta von Varley</span> <span>699</span></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It washed over her like an invisible wave, without temperature but bowling her over all the same. She fell bonelessly into her chair..</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d only gotten a 699 once before. Almost no one could claim to have ever gotten it, least of all at the Olympics. Was she the first woman to do that? She didn’t know She didn’t even know if a man had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She felt faint.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Bernadetta,” came Edelgard’s firm voice. “Stay with me. Just get your bearings, you have time yet. You’re going to be one of the last showdowns, and you’ll have the fewest to do,” she explained softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just relax!” Cyril chirped beside her, patting her shoulder firmly. She was almost embarrassed by how the feel of the two of them beside her grounded her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, stars…” she murmured, falling into her dinner party fugue. Just look pretty. Don’t let anyone know how uncomfortable you were, or Father would be angry. Don’t let anyone see how scared you were or everyone would hate you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bernadetta,” called Edelgard once more. “Stay with us, Bernadetta. You can do this. I know you can,” she swore in hushed, heated tones. “You got a 699 and you didn’t even notice; you can do this just as easily. They’re just arrows on a target,” she urged, worried at the blank look in her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” cheered Cyril, clenching his fists by his shoulders. “You’re amazing Bernadetta! Don’t let nerves get to you! Nothin’s changed, this is just another elimination round like any other!” he cheered sincerely, Bernadetta’s eyes seeming to lock onto his gesticulation, bringing her back from wherever she’d disappeared to.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So just put on that cute floppy hat of yours and show ‘em what you’ve got!” he cheered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C—cute!?” squeaked Bernadetta, her face burning bright red. Oh, no, surely she wasn’t cute!?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hah, see!? That got you out of your funk,” he said cheerily, poking her on the nose and prompting another alarmed squeak.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Edelgard said nothing for a time, staring at Cyril with narrowed eyes. “... Well played,” was all she said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was called outside. Pitcher-Plant was handed to her, a firm hand putting her bucket hat on her head  before she was firmly patted out of the room and into the sun again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was inordinately relieved to see the world hadn’t transmogrified into some terror-dimension to match the fanged butterflies in her chest, the chicken wire scraping across her skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was all in her head. Goddess, but it felt real. She had to remember it was all in her head. Why did they have to do these stupid showdowns? Wasn’t seventy-two arrows enough?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta didn’t even notice who she was standing next to. All she could think about was getting into stance and trying to clear her head. She was in the highest seed, so she chose who shot first, and gave her opponent the honor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She held onto Pitcher-Plant like a lifeline, the only thing that made sense to her right now. She just had to shoot her arrows, that was all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her opponent fired, scoring a ten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta didn’t even notice what she was doing until her bowstring pressed into her cheek and she only saw a pitcher plant sticker and a target. She heard herself exhaling, heard the arrow flying. Ten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>None of it felt real. She was still floating helplessly in her mind, trying to keep herself afloat. She had a cute hat, Cyril said. Did the crowd think her hat was cute? She didn’t even know what she was thinking, but she sank another arrow, and another, each arrow another worry she shot into the target.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It brought her peace.  She wished she could shoot them faster, but eventually the judge told her to stop, so she did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They tallied, and she won. Which meant she got to shoot more arrows, so that was nice she supposed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, she shot more arrows, and she won again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, she got into position and she got ready to shoot again. She chose to shoot first this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shot the arrow, meditating on whether or not her hat was cute. Did Edelgard like it? She never said anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She fired again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Cyril was nice. She hoped he did better next time, or that she could see him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked at Pitcher-Plant’s sticker, and she fired. She didn’t  know what her opponent’s score was but she did well on her ends, so she felt pretty good. Bernadetta felt better when she didn’t look to see what the opponent was doing. Just watched the judge to gesture for her to step up, and shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She fired another arrow, a ten, her arrows forming a tight ring around the gold, and the entire stadium erupted with applause. Bernadetta wasn’t really sure what was happening anymore. No one had done that earlier! What was happening?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was like a flood; Edelgard nearly tackled her, hugging the life out of her as she awkwardly tried not to poke her with Pitcher-Plant’s, ah, poker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An official instructed her as Edelgard dragged her along, bowless to the podium, climbing up into its center. She stared out at the crowd, Petra and Dorothea with her cheering wildly when they saw her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She didn’t really hear anything, or notice anything but a medal being placed around her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stared out at everyone clapping for her, the other athletes disappearing from her mind. She didn’t know what exactly was happening, or if maybe this was all a strange dream she was having. She looked down at her chest, gently grasping the medal in her hand, her vision going blurry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt like metal. It felt like this was real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked back up, vision hazing over amidst the flashing cameras and cheering crowd, and then Bernadetta's face planted off the podium, unconscious.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She was awakened by something gently slapping her cheek, a dull murmur echoing in her ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh…” murmured Bernadetta, staring up at the blue sky in confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” she murmured dazedly, voice barely a whisper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cameras had stopped flashing, people being escorted away while others in white jackets ran closer to her. Distantly, she realized Edelgard had her in her lap, and was murmuring something she couldn’t make out. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She let herself lie there. If she needed to do something, someone would tell her, surely. She never thought she’d get to be in Edelgard’s lap like this, but in her confused state she could be honest and admit she’d always wanted to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone shone a bright light into her eye, which made her groan unhappily and turn away.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hm. Pupils dilating normally, reacting to stimuli. Looks like she just passed out from the excitement,” a foreign voice intoned. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That would be likely, knowing her,” Edelgard said, an edge of worry to her voice all the same. “Will she be alright?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, sure. Just give her a minute and she’ll be right as rain. Give her some fluids, go at her own pace, shouldn’t be a problem,” what Bernadetta was realizing was likely a doctor was saying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, doctor.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>With her bill of health mostly cleared, a few other faces approached. It took her a moment to recognize them.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“P—Petra..?” she asked dreamily. “And… Dorothea.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes, Bernie,” said Petra happily. “You were giving us quite the fear, just now,” she said gently, with a teasing smile.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry,” she said sadly, her mind still too slow to enter into a shame spiral like such a statement would normally prompt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s okay, Bernie. So long as you’re safe,” she said softly, squeezing her shoulder. “Congratulations, by the way,” she said with pep, a smile widening happily on her face. “You did the incredible!” she cheered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it was awesome!” chorused Dorothea and Cyril, who made their presence known.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh… I guess I did, huh,” she muttered dazedly. “I didn’t really notice,” she said, as she regrettably pulled out of Edelgard’s lap, using the podium to help herself. Edelgard probably didn’t appreciate her using her lap like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dorothea leaned forward, offering her an extra hand to lean on until she stood up, shaky but at least not wobbling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I won the gold?” she asked, still not believing it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yup. Wanna get back on and make it official?” asked Dorothea, with a coy smile.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Um. O-okay. Probably better than a picture of me falling off…” she said, as she stepped back onto the podium, staring out at the stands, then looking down at her friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They looked so happy for her. She looked back down at the medal she’d worked her whole life to be good enough to get.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She realized it didn’t really matter that much to her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>What mattered were the people down there, who had made it all possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She sniffled, then. She stepped off the podium, still holding her medal in both hands as he sniffs became hiccups, and despite herself she began to wail. Loud, hiccuping sobs, it was with firm hands that she was taken into a hug, a number of arms wrapping around her and she slowly began to realize what it had all been for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did it, Bernie,” said Petra softly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I love you all so much,” she managed to gasp, looking out at all of her friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We always did, silly girl,” said Edelgard softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta felt like she was the luckiest person in the whole world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she was finally released, wiping tears from her eyes, she was met by shining smiles from her best friends, even Cyril smiling and giving her a wave to the side. “That was awesome, Bernadetta!” cheered Cyril.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-maybe it was,” she replied. “But I couldn’t have done it without you all. That said, um...” her stomach growled noisily. “Could we go get something to eat? And then maybe go watch the shooting event to wind down? she asked shyly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Edelgard smiled. “We can do whatever you want, Bernadetta.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Byleth had to admit, it had been alarming to see the event-winner before the rifling event proper actually passed out on the podium. Poor girl must have been under terrible nerves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She supposed it took all kinds, but all the same she worried for her. That wasn’t a normal reaction. She’d looked more dazed and confused than happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back to the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her arm still burned from her yesterday’s practice, but she was as ready as she could be. Time to just shoot a ton of bullets into a particularly unfortunate target.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She vaguely understood why it was on the Pentathlon’s docket, being ostensibly the skillset of a modern warrior in the Grecian ideal, but all the same it felt strange to her. Running, swimming, that she knew, but having to learn rifling? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Horseback riding?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Suffice to say she’d spent some long days with Coach Alois.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was what she signed up for. Learning new, bizarre skills and becoming a master in each of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The archery ranges translated readily to the rifle events; the turn-over was finished in a flash, and the qualifiers were underway, men and women’s events shooting for the 50 meter rifle, taking their punishingly long 120-shot qualifiers with herself among them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost three hours of shooting, precise as threading a needle. The jump of the rifle against her shoulder, over, and over, remaining still despite it, carefully correcting endlessly, reloading each shot laboriously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If she hadn’t done it herself, she’d never imagined it would be this demanding. Perhaps that was just another one of the little lessons she was learning on this fool’s errand she’d placed herself on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any normal person would have been proud to medal, never mind doing it while in a pentathlon event vs the ‘pure athletes’ that only had these events. But for reasons she couldn’t understand that still wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span> for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She needed this medal, she needed to prove this to herself. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She needed to make all those years </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She fired at the dauntless target, which ate her fire without so much as flinching. She smiled mirthlessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The target wasn’t her opponent, she was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She fired again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders were too tight; her aim slightly off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kept firing. There was nothing else she knew to do. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It was only when she got to go prone that she felt her shoulders loosen a bit; her score reflected that. She hoped it would be enough despite her fumblings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All she could do was hope, and fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When her buzzer went off on her final bullet, she collapsed, prone or not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She counted to sixty, and simply prayed she did alright. That was exhausting, and if she qualified she had about another 45 shots to go. Her mind already felt like mush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She stood up, backing away from the range. Jeralt took her rifle and handed her a bottle of water.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good work, kid,” he murmured softly once she’d taken out her earplugs.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Think you made the cut. You have some time before the elimination round, try to relax and get your head right. ” he said as he methodically deconstructed her gun, cleaning it out on their table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” was all she managed between gulps of water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wondered how Hapi was doing. As she looked out along the remaining contestants, the numbers slowly thinned until she saw a mop of red hair, prone and firing in the distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She counted five, six, seven shots, and then she stood up, stretching out a crick in her back with a smile on her face before she stepped away from the range.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Happy Hapi!” called Constance, wrapping her arms around her wife cheerily. “How did it go!?” she demanded in no uncertain terms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hapi laughed good-naturedly. “Relax, relax, it went fine! I shot the target a buncha times and I think it was in all the right places!” she answered cheerily.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, good! I expect nothing less,” harrumphed Constance before they both noticed her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, Chatterbox! Hey!” she called with a wave.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hello Hapi,” she said softly. “Um, good work out there. I don’t know what you got, but I’m sure you made the cut.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Both Nuvelles smiled. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Chatterbox. You remember to work on that shoulder? If you did I’m sure you made it,” she teased without heat.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth smiled awkwardly. “Well I tried to,” she admitted. “It’s not always so simple.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Hapi laughed. “Yeah, that much is definitely true. Don’t beat yourself up, eh? You’ve just gotta let yourself do your thing and damn the consequences if you want to make it far in a game like this,” she opined.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth nodded seriously. “And… How about you, Miss Constance? Have you done your event yet?” she asked curiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, not yet,” she said with a smile. “Soon though! The brawling events all happen around the same time,” she said happily. “For now all of my energy is going towards my Hapi Camper,” she said, showering her wife in eskimo kisses.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ahhh, stop!” cried Hapi. “I don’t even like camping!” she cried, laughing.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, just not how I do it, you cavewoman. What’s so wrong with getting a camper instead of a tent?” she demanded.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>all of it?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she countered, with a playful pout.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Constance scoffed good-naturedly. “Yes, dear, whatever you say, dear,” she said, turning away from her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth took her leave and was left standing near the audience. Admittedly, it wasn’t exciting to watch the competitors firing. As demanding as it was, she couldn’t lie; it looked about as exciting as paint drying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a shock of white hair she saw in the stands that got her attention, however. After looking more closely, she realized who it was with an excited thump of her heart.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Edelgard had come to see her, she realized with a surprisingly possessive feeling of happiness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t let her down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got about 20 minutes, and then you’re back in it, kid. You’re in the top 8,” he said gustily, stretching his shoulders after handing back her rifle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what to do. Probably more people watching, not that that’s ever bothered you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth nodded firmly. “I won’t let you down.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jeralt sighed. “Byleth… you couldn’t ever let me down. You’re at the frickin’ Olympics for crying out loud, you’re in the Pentathlon and you already won a medal. The only person you can let down is yourself, kiddo,” he said softly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Your drive’s a part of you, and we all love that about you, but just try to remember that even though you’ve got high expectations of yourself, we love you just as you are, okay?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth cradled her rifle awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such bald-faced expressions of love and support. “...Thanks, Dad,” she finally murmured. “I’ll try to remember that.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jeralt crossed his arms authoritatively, giving a soft grunt before patting her shoulder hard enough to make her lose her balance for a moment.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ll knock ‘em dead, kid. Maybe if it works out introduce me to that pretty girl you were lookin’ at a minute ago, eh?” Jeralt said, grinning wolfishly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth smiled despite herself. “Dad!” she rebuked, laughing as she did.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Go get right, kid, your old man’s just gonna stand here and cheer you on, alright?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>One thing that she appreciated about the olympics is that no one explained the rules; the officials trusted that the athletes had done their homework and knew what was being done when and how.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Which is why she appreciated that once everyone was at their station, all that happened was a buzzer rang, the competitors got into prone position, and began shooting without further prompting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was soothing, in a way she couldn’t articulate very well. She was surrounded by people who took this seriously, who knew the ins and outs of their events and all wanted the same thing she did.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Even as she vowed to leave them all in the dust, she had to admit she felt a sense of comradery with her fellow shooters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The unending cacophony of rifle shots around her proved an effective sort of white noise as she took her shots, loading each bullet by hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a lot of muscle memory, she’d come to learn. Just finding the Right Shot and keeping things as picture-perfect as that shot was, mimicking it as much as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Which is why she was growing frustrated as her shots swerved unacceptably wide, seemingly at random according to her scoring monitor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t moving. She put the rifle back the same way each time, but it teased her, a bullet a bit to the left, a bit downwards, and her eyes glinted with frustration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was going to make this rifle do what she wanted, curse it!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grit her teeth, stance tight, fighting the urge to swallow the recoil entirely out of spite alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She needed to stay calm. Hapi’s advice had made a difference and she knew it; she got too tight when she fired, too obsessed with making the same shot happen again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When she saw her fire, when she fired now, forward and to the right one space, she fired effortlessly, without worry. She’d finished first before anyone else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to channel some of that or she’d just make a fool of herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Washing out in the qualifier was one thing, but being crowned 8th-of-8 somehow stung even worse in her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Prone was done, and now it was time for the stand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Overall, it went better than the prone had gone, which she was thankful for. She had consciously worked to keep her stance a bit looser, to focus more on making good shots instead of the same shot; it helped, a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed to move much more peacefully in comparison, the other shooters all finishing at around the same time as one another, give or take a bullet or two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, it was the kneel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She didn’t know why they organized it like this; she felt strange, shooting for the gold sitting on her rear, almost disrespectful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She fired, and fired, preparing for the inevitable final shoot-off. The last five shots were shot on-command, not in a time limit like the others. She took her time, lining her shots, as carefully as she could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Participants, prepare for the shoot-off. Fire upon the buzz,” came the voice of the announcer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat at the ready. It all came down to this, now…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a buzz, and she fired. Fast as she could manage, she reloaded and shouldered again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another buzz.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was over before she knew it; she hadn’t even counted the shots, only realizing when she reached for a bullet to load to find she had run out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was tempted to just flop gracelessly onto the floor, but she didn’t. Nervously, she looked at the score table, still blank on their target monitors, and she waited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waited with a wince already on her face. She knew she hadn’t done it. It was too sloppy, she flubbed the prone and she was dead in the water, she knew it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The names were a blur. She saw Hapi got the silver, but her despair was already complete.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth Eisner had placed fifth among the 8 finalists.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took all of her self-control not to cry out for the shame and frustration she was feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With all the dignity she could muster, she made her way back to her table where Jeralt was, standing just as he had been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid,” was all he said. Byleth said nothing in return, simply putting her rifle back in its case, wishing she could take the entire day and just put it into a box she could foist off into the closet never to look at it again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeralt didn’t let her leave like she wanted to, though, instead placing a gruff hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you should go say hi to that girl you were talkin’ to? Betcha she still wants to see ya,” he said, uncommonly soft, eyes sincere and trying to guide her as best as he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She felt her heart crack a bit at that. She’d failed him, and he was still doing his best for her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Okay Dad,” she managed to whisper.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“N’ leave the gun with me; I’ll handle it kiddo.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So freed, Byleth made her way to the stands once more, pleased to see Edelgard still there. She was hard to miss, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Awkwardly, she gave a shallow wave. A part of her was happy to see Edelgard’s face, wearing a cheery smile as she waved back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With unheard words to her purple-haired friend, she broke off to meet her at the entrance field, where she appeared, a warm smile on her face. “Byleth. Congratulations on completing the event.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth winced at that. “Well, at least it’s over. Fifth…” she leaned against the wall, expression falling. “I’d hoped I was better than that,” she admitted miserably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Edelgard’s smile was unperturbed. “Oh, terribly sorry, Miss Pentathlon, was one medal not enough?” She placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Never,” she said playfully, before sighing in thought. “I suppose you’re right, though. Just… hoped for more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Edelgard reached forward, a firm hand on her shoulder. “None of that, madam,” she said firmly. “You did great, and there’s still a lot of competition left,” she said confidently.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Byleth shrugged, unaccountably shy. “I suppose… Thank you for coming to watch me, by the way,” she managed. “I really appreciated seeing you in the stands.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It was my pleasure, Byleth. You played... beautifully,” she said gently, eyes warm.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Her cheeks burned at the compliment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m looking forward to getting a gold medal myself, to match you and your friend.” she said, suddenly feeling much braver. “I should go, Coach is waiting for me…” she said apologetically, thumb pointing behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I understand,” she answered. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” she said warmly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a final nod, Byleth ran off, her heart rushing in her chest. She’d just have to do her best, and try not to let her loss affect her. She could always work harder after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially when she had someone to impress.</span>
</p>
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